


The Nightingale

by miekelele



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Feels, Forbidden Love, Implied Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Implied Tormund Giantsbane/Brienne of Tarth, Missed Chances, Mutual Pining, Romantic Friendship, Romeo and Juliet References, unhappily married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 16:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20029135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miekelele/pseuds/miekelele
Summary: They're friends. Nothing more. Life is good. But sometimes chemistry strikes. And hits them.A story about an impossible relationship, friends over lovers.Mutual pining. Uncountable what-ifs. And slightly unhappy marriages. No happy end though.





	The Nightingale

**Author's Note:**

> Heyho, 
> 
> just a short little idea I came up with yesterday. Nothing too big, nothing too plot-heavy. Only feels and, I'm so sorry, no happy end here. 
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy it despite this and feel free to let me know anything you'd have to say.

She hasn't drunk much at all, but she gets off one station before. The short walk won't change anything, but the wind blows her head through and rearranges her thoughts. There are no new thoughts, only sometimes they are the other way around. And she considers that refreshing.

_I always text you when I'm drunk_, Brienne writes. Not knowing exactly why now. And why him. But it was true. Whenever her arms tinged and her head floated, she wrote to him. Maybe he won’t answer. He won’t answer that often. He keeps forgetting to send the messages he typed.

_Your innermost_, he only answers and leaves her behind with more riddles than answers.

_My innermost is spinning_, she explains quickly. She waits, she does not. Jaime _writes_. And _writes_. And _writes_.

_Mine too_. He needs a long time for these words. He messed up with his big thumb on the little keys on his smartphone. Probably he started his music in between. Insanely bad music of course.

_Lie down_, she whispers the words and pretends he hears them.

_I still have half a bottle. And I'm sitting on the bench. It would be dreadful if you would be here._

_Terrible thought. I don't want to spend time with you, you know? _

_There is still a seat on this bench. You know? _

She knows. She is on her way. And everything flies through her head. Thoughts and hopes and wishes and fluff. Lint in her head. 

_Then sit down differently_. She answers. And she knows that he is waiting for her. And she knows that she wouldn't let him wait. Never. His words make her skin tingle. He could write banalest words. But his words are her words. And his words were tingling and burning and caressing on her skin.

She walks past skyscrapers and drunks, people with dogs, borrowed bicycles and the excavator on the street. She walks until the crooked hedge comes. And finally, she bends in, past the dry fountain, the overcrowded litter bins and the teenagers with their first drug experiences. She smiles at the cuddly couple. They won't see her. She walks over the bridge, avoids drunken cyclists and knows that he is there.

She remembered him taller. He is always tall in her head, outshines everything, outshines everyone. But not today. Today he is small and looks at her as if he had to be rescued very quickly. She cannot save him. Not today. Not ever. There were times when Brienne could save Jaime. But now he’s married, and she’s married with kids. And everything has changed. It saddens her.

_What are you doing here?_ he asks, and she shrugs her shoulders.

_I’m not quite sure. My feet carried me, just like that. _

_To me? _

_Always to you_, she whispers, knowing that he could hear her. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters today. They decided to be friends. And that works for them, most of the time. And then there were different times. Evenings like today, when they are drunk, or sad, or lonely. Unhappy. Disappointed by life and all the ill-made decisions they had faced.

_The world needs us_, he says, because he is unable to say that he needs her. She certainly needs them. She needs him.

Life is complicated. _But you are so good_, he says. _So, so good_. As if he could hardly believe it himself. As if she is not a part of this world, but she is. Every single day she faces this world and sometimes he was with her. And most of the time she’s all alone, Tormund sitting beside her, but she is all alone. 

_I don't like you at all. The time without you was utterly beautiful._ _So calming. So peaceful_. He laughs. As always, when she lies. He laughs and looks at her as if she had told a joke. But she does not know one single joke. Her life is a joke, she thinks. And she knows that this is pathetic.

_I missed you_. And she feels that something is different now. That he has lost his sharp tongue, somewhere on the way, and is now expressing his affection. His affection. She finds herself unable to deal with it. She reaches for the wine bottle.

_Wine does not make it any better. _For once she doesn't care. She drinks it like she drinks her juice during breakfast. Because it makes nothing better but nothing worse. Wine is a status quo.

He comes closer to her and stares at her full lips. _Your lipstick is off. It was red, wasn't it? _

_Yeah_, she's whispering.

_For whom_, he asks.

_For me_, she answers. _Only for me._

He strokes it with his index finger, very slowly.

_It’s messy. Let me fix that_. He seems so young again. The way he must have looked before they met. Before she knew him. His index finger is on her lower lip, on which the lipstick has already worn off. Because she always chews on her lower lip. Because she is always so nervous.

_No. Don't do that_, she says. He draws his finger away and nods.

_Forgive me_. Nothing more. _Forgive me. _

_Just for today_, she whispers.

_Just for today - what?_ It is usual that he doesn’t understand her when every word is too much in her mouth. And no word is ever enough for his ear.

_Think about it. Only for today. How it would be. You and Me. And lipstick._ She holds his hand steadfast on her cheek, stares into his green eyes.

_That would be terrible_, he says. And she knows that the thought will not let him go.

_What are you doing?_ She asks now.

_Kiss the corners of your mouth_, his voice trembles a little, but he keeps very still. _Only the corners of your mouth. When they curl, just slightly. _

_And after that?_

_Your nose._ His lips move, very slightly, just as if he were whispering something. She can do nothing against his gaze, the slight movement of his lips and the feeling he always brings with him, like a faithful companion. His beautiful appearance has already burned itself into her eyes. She can’t help it. She can’t.

_I want to kiss you_, he says. _You are so beautiful. Why are you so beautiful_? He sounds desperate. She wants to tell him that she’s clearly not. Not like his wife, that beautiful princess, not like any other woman he knows. In an instant, his eyes tell her everything she needs and she knows that in his eyes, she is, indeed, perfect.

_All illusion. Pure chemistry. That is not real_, she says.

_I want you,_ he says. _And that is real. Every fibre of my being wants you._

_It's just an idea, you know?_ she asks now. She trembles as she removes his hand from her cheek, but he pulls her towards him, puts his stump around her hip and just looks at her.

_And what happens in this idea, he asks. _

_Nothing good_. But she doesn't believe it. How can something that is so tingling not be good? But she needs her cool head and her heart under lock and key and every twitch of desire somewhere else. But never here, where he is, where they are. All alone and around them the city.

_I'll kiss the spot under your ear_. He stares at exactly this spot, touches it with every look, every stout breath. As if enchanted, her index finger finds its way there, and she can almost feel his kiss. Light as a feather. And at the same time as heavy as a wine barrel.

_Don't forget. Pure science,_ she says, yet moans. Because he does things to her. Incredible things.

_More than that_, he argues and lets his gaze glide over her long neck to her shirt. She wears it so often that he knows it. That he knows that the front stripes are thicker than those on her back. He knows that it sometimes slides up when she grabs a book from the top shelf.

_Today you may think of me._ She drinks another sip from the wine bottle. _And tomorrow that must be gone again. _

_I’ll be a good boy. _She knows that he’ll be not. _May I tell you what I see?_ He asks and she shakes her head vehemently.

_It is not true if it only happens in your mind_, she explains.

_What about you?_ His voice has become insecure, his gaze now on her delicate wrist, still between his fingers. Slowly he lets his thumb run over her pulse, feels her fast and strong heartbeat.

_Maybe I'll see you there. Maybe, just maybe, I'll kiss your neck, the little birthmark on the right. Your stump. Your jawline. If you firmly believe in it._ The wine bottle is empty, and she carefully places it next to the others, next to the park bench by the litter can. He follows her movement, scans every corner of her body. Just as if he had to remember everything. For tonight.

_I will never open my eyes again_. He explains gently. Always the romantic. His green eyes bore into hers and she briefly forgets to breathe. Until the air becomes scarce.

_You’ll miss so many beautiful things,_ she says. She is her reasonable self again. She loathes it. But it’s not with her without reason. She has flown high. And has fallen so, so deep. Since then that voice has been in her head.

_More beautiful than that_? He asks, and she does not know whether he means her. Or this moment. Or the stars in the sky that you never see in this city. (_Kings Landing has no place for dreams_, she says sometimes. Then he beats her arm, very gently and shakes his head. _Where I am there will always be dreams_.)

_Is it nicer than this? The things waiting out there._ He asks again. She swallows briefly, feels his thumb on her skin, his breath on her cheek and his presence so direct that she sways slightly.

_No_, she says calmly. _But true. And true is good._ The truth hurts. But never as much as all dreams that devastate her head.

_Don’t go, will you?_ He finally opens his eyes. She shakes her head.

_Only tonight_, she reminds him. _Tonight, I am yours_.

_It is the lark_. His beaming smile makes her doubt. 

_It is the nightingale. Always the nightingale_, she says now and gets up.

_A kiss?_ He begs, but that’s not, what he really wants. She knows. She shakes her head.

_You may thank me tomorrow. And sleep well. _She shakes off herself and all dreams, all tingling, every glitter.

_Dream of me. Dream of all the things I will do with you this night_. His pupils are dilated now, and she wonders if he had taken anything before their encounter. Or if he is aroused. One second look is enough to know that it is the latter.

_Don't hurt me. _She whispers. He takes her hand. Not the one with her wedding ring, though. He places a featherlight kiss on her knuckles and shakes his head.

_Never._


End file.
